Gentle
by JealousOfTheMoon
Summary: She'd been trying so hard to escape that useless title and seize the time there while it lasted, but it hadn't made her any less empty. In which Susan reflects on the past and resolves the future. Oneshot, PC Movie


_Susan was very…GI-Jane in the film, and while I don't entirely appreciate that, I've tried to explain it here. I thought the film showed her movement away from Narnia a bit more dramatically than was done in the book—but on the other hand it did happen in the book—so it's rather hard to tell whether she's OOC or not. Whether the movie agreed with the book character or not (I almost think it does), this is definitely movieverse—except in the movie she's going back to school at the end, while I've retained the notion from the book that she's visiting America with her parents—so actually I like to think of it as a blend of both. _

_This is in the same vein as _Magnificent_. I'm basing Susan's perspective on the scene where she and Lucy are talking and Lucy says, "Aren't you glad to be back?" and Susan responds "Yes—for as long as it lasts." I thought that was very telling as far as the motives for Susan's movement away from the name Aslan had given her and (ultimately) away from Narnia.  
_

_ I'm not as satisfied with this one; perhaps things just move too fast… I'm not sure. Help me out here with some feedback, folks._

_I did a lot of work on this while listening to U2's _Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own_ and _I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For_. It seemed to me that that's what Susan's trying to do (make it on her own while searching for something), and she doesn't quite get the message that it doesn't work, so that fit nicely (Watch for more Susan fics with titles that sound suspiciously like lines from those songs...hem). Anyway, big thanks to U2. _

**Gentle** –_by JotM_

Back when things were as they were, she'd been proud of her title—_Susan the Gentle._ It fit: she loved beauty and hated killing. Then she'd come across the Telmarines about to drown Trumpkin, and something had snapped. The unfairness of the situation washed over her like a tidal wave. All she could think of was that _she_ could have prevented all this: the ruins of the castle, the fights her brother kept getting into, the persecution of the dwarf.

Maybe if she hadn't been the beautiful one who hated to go to war, maybe if she'd spent more time studying how to reinforce Narnia against Telmar and putting all that into action—maybe this wouldn't have happened.

_He_ hadn't even given her a chance.

He'd convinced her that being Gentle was enough, and then like that He'd taken them away from it all and--just like that--let Narnia rot. She'd never had a chance to be anything but _useless_.

Well! See if He'd catch _her_ unawares again! Knowing Him, she didn't have much time before it was all ripped away again…

_He died, _the thought appeared unbidden and she quickly quashed it. He's not here. He let this happen. _He_ abandoned us, and whatever he did before doesn't matter. This wasn't like him—this wasn't _fair_, ripping them away when things were so lovely, making them live a year of dreariness, and then bringing them back to ruins. It didn't make _sense_. It wasn't right. Aslan couldn't be doing this to them.

_He knew what He was doing when He died, didn't He? Didn't He come through despite all that mess?_

Well, He obviously didn't know what He was doing _here_ if He let it come to this, did he? He's gone now, and it was up to them. There's no telling how long she had.

_Su, He called you to be Gentle…_

That title could go hang as far as she cared! It was time, she decided, to do what it took—before time ran out.

_Whatever it takes? Even if it means…killing?_

She'd let the arrow fly into the soldier. Now, in the train compartment, close to midnight, finger tracing the patterns the few stars in the sky above made, she pondered that moment.

"I'm glad I'm not going back." Saying it aloud made it better—more clear, more justifiable. It was barely a whisper in the dark compartment, but it was loud enough to cause another head to snap up in the dark compartment. Both listener and speaker were silent. Then, Susan (the speaker) continued fiercely, "I don't _want_ to go back!"

She sat still for a moment, face pressed against the cool window of the train, eyes fixed on the smudged sky that couldn't decide whether to be light or dark. The silhouette of the person her first statement had awoken remained frozen in the background, silently listening.

"It—Narnia—was nice the first time—I was so beautiful and men flocked around me and everyone loved me! But this time—Aslan, I _killed_—and there was someone who admired me, but I was too old for him—I had to leave—and it was all wrong." A tear quivered on the edge of her eyelid, but she wouldn't let it fall. "I'm going to grow up _here_, Aslan, and I'm going to figure things out—and I'm glad you can't rip my life away from me here. This is my world, and—"

She halted abruptly and jerked her head 'round at a sound from behind her. Whoever had been listening to her had jerked his or her leg out of stiffness and overturned one of the smaller suitcases at their feet. She glared suspiciously at the three innocently sleeping figures—one of which was undoubtedly faking it. After glancing back and forth for a few minutes, she said in her severest older-sister tone:

"Ed_mund._"

A grumbling sigh came from said brother, and he let out a half-groan half-whine: "Su…lea'me 'lone…"

He was trying to sound like he'd just been asleep. Susan rolled her eyes.

"Come off it, Ed, you know you're not fooling me. The suitcase that fell over was at _your_ feet…and anyway, you were chewing your lip, and you only do that when you're anxious—and _awake_." Her tone lowered a little. "What did you hear?"

"Enough," Ed yawned—he really _was _sleepy, just hadn't been asleep. "Su—I've got to say," he was suddenly more alert, "that it's not like that at all—you should have told one of us this stuff before you decided all that rubbish about Aslan being out to get you and whatnot—you don't have to clam up you know."

"I don't think he's _out to get me,_" Susan protested. "And anyway, you're one to talk about clamming up about feelings. Why, as soon as Dad starts his "I'm thankful for family" speech _you're _the one that jumps up and exits to "use the water closet"—and that's been every Christmas since you were _four_ and couldn't get away with screaming at the top of your lungs!"

Edmund looked a bit uncomfortable. "Well…I didn't say you should have told _me_ about all this stuff… But what I mean to say is—well—it's about Aslan, mostly. No, let me finish," he hurried on when Susan seemed about to interrupt. "I think you're wrong. I don't think Aslan's confined to Narnia… I think He's here, somewhere, and I don't think trying to shut Him out is the proper way to go about living our lives here. I don't think you _can_, Su, and I think you'll only be miserable if you try."

There was a somewhat strained silence, broken only by Peter's light snores from the seat beside her. Then—

"That's a nice opinion, Ed," Susan said in a mild but decidedly aloof manner.

"It's not an _opinion, 'Mum',_" Edmund returned, using the nickname with more fondness than exasperation. He smiled at her briefly before continuing. "I think you know just as well as I do that Aslan's not locked up in Narnia as if…as if it's his prison or something. I mean…you were _talking_ to _Him_ just then! As if he were listening!"

"I really don't think you understand," Susan responded a trifle condescendingly. "You're a boy, you see, and you wouldn't."

"Dash it, Su," Ed said, almost angry all of a sudden. "That's got _nothing_ to do with it!"

"Don't be such a child, Edmund," Susan reprimanded calmly. "You've been listening to Peter and his school friends. What would mother say about your swearing—oh, all _right_—about your _almost-swearing_, or whatever you call it?"

"Sorry," Edmund glowered in a way that was not very apologetic. Then, in a softer tone, almost pleading, "But I can't help it—I'm worried about you, Su—"

"Don't be," his sister interrupted sharply, wincing at herself because she knew how much it costs her brother to admit that. She amended that, trying to soften her tone, "There's really no need to worry, Ed. I'm going to America and I'm going to have a lovely time and meet lovely people and make new friends and find wonderful clothes—I'm going to discover a new place that's _real_ and this time it won't disappear or change or grow hundreds of years old all of a sudden, and I'm going to enjoy it!"

"Good for you," Ed grumbled, because he couldn't think of anything better to say. His mind was still gaping disbelievingly at the part about finding clothes.

"Just because you don't have as bright a place ahead of you doesn't mean you have to begrudge me mine, Ed," Susan said, suddenly rather irritated that _she_ has to be justifying herself and her perspectives to her _younger_ brother, "so don't sulk. Someday, you'll know what it's like to have a future so bright that you can forget about the past—"

"I don't want to forget about the past," Edmund said fiercely. "I'll allow it wasn't always a nice past or a _tame_ past, but it was _good_—rather like Aslan, actually."

An odd expression crossed Susan's face. "Sometimes, Ed, I think life would be better if the _past_ just disappeared completely—if it never happened."

"What do you mean?" Edmund began, sounding a little frightened and wondering if she meant the past as a whole or just the most important part of it—but just then Lucy woke next to him and sat up, looking from Edmund to Susan—the one, a little frightened and a little angry, the other, aloof and determined.

"Is something wrong?" she queried, then—suddenly—looking from one face to another— "Have you two had a row?"

"Of course not," Susan soothed, "nothing of the sort. Edmund was just…just worrying about being able to handle his Algebra studies this year, and I was telling him he's nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, that's it," Edmund gave a laugh that was a little hollow, "Algebra. C'mon, Lu, you need your sleep—it's only nearly dawn, and there's a spot for your head on my shoulder."

As Edmund coaxed Lucy to sleep, Susan turned back to the window. She thought of _her _Narnia—of Narnia when it had been _hers—_of handsome princes and beautiful dresses and starry nights. She wouldn't think about _Him_.

It struck her, suddenly, that the leaving didn't matter. Edmund didn't know—didn't understand. He—why, he was still a _kid_, clinging to the thing that had rescued him all those years ago. Of _course_ he would want Aslan to be here. And anyway, he didn't have anything to worry about really—she wasn't going to actually forget about Narnia. She'd been a bit morbid earlier, but she had no intention of forgetting the good parts. Maybe she could even find some of the good parts here—the parties, the dresses, and the attention… Whatever Aslan had taken away, she'd get back somehow… The thought crossed her mind that it wouldn't be the same without Him, but she pushed it away. No use remembering _that_ when she couldn't do much about it.

Her eyes wandered around the compartment again. Dawn was shining dimly now, and Edmund's eyes were on her, confused in the pale light—calculating—wondering—hoping—praying, maybe.

She shrugged and turned away. _She _knew life was going to be nice.

Edmund caught her eye and shot a quick glance at Lucy, who was now fast asleep on his shoulder. "Su, I wish—" he began.

"Drop it," she retorted shortly, and paused, holding her breath. Part of her cried out, _'Don't listen to me—don't just drop it! Convince me!'_

But Ed held her gaze for a few moments and then turned back to Lucy, wrapping an arm around her to stop her in her current path of sliding off the seat.

With a careless shrug and an aching heart, Susan let her head fall onto the back of the seat. Her eyes drifted shut as the scenery flew by and the light increased.

Life was going to be nice—but oh, how _empty_ nice seemed just then!


End file.
